Flowers in the Window
by Minerva Solo
Summary: A bit of silly fluff. Farfarello notices that the flowers on Schwarz's hall table always seem to be nice and fresh.


**Flowers in the Window**

_A/N: It's unashamed silliness, really. The word 'Berserker' came up on something I was watching, and how could I refuse a command like that?_

_Rating: PG_

_Warnings: none, really_

_Pairings: most of them_

The berserker stared at the flowers on the hall table with open bemusement. There had been new flowers almost every day. Schuldig probably hadn't noticed, since flowers couldn't think. Crawford had probably considered every possible implication, and if new flowers were still appearing every day, then he must have decided that they weren't a threat to the team.

Farfarello cocked his head to one side, and with one fluid movement sliced the heads from the flowers. He had no great love for petunias. He'd had an aunt called Petunia. Possibly.

The next day, there were pansies. Farfarello had no argument with pansies, so he left them there.

About a week later, the morning after a hard job, he was the only one awake to answer the door. The delivery boy stared at him.

"Berserker."

"Siberian," Farfarello said. He nodded.

"Y-You... you," the assassin stuttered. "You live here!"

"Yes," Farfarello agreed. "Are those for us?"

"They're for..." Siberian checked the label. "Nagi Naoe." He screwed his face up in concentration. Farfarello waited patiently. "Is that Prodigy?"

"Yes. He's asleep." Farfarello waited for Siberian to say something, but when nothing was forthcoming he sighed. "Do you want money?"

"No. Uh, no." Siberian stared at the lilies. "They're paid for." He thrust them at Farfarello angrily. He spun on his heel and stomped down the stairs. Farfarello moved to a window to watch Siberian get on a small pink scooter and drive away. He was impressed. Not many people could drive pink scooters in a way that truly expressed rage. Siberian was talented.

Farfarello made a point of getting up early the next day, and was well rewarded. He opened the door to Siberian again.

"I've told Kritiker," Siberian said. "We know where you live."

"You live at a flower shop," Farfarello informed him.

Siberian stared at the basket of roses. "Well, yes."

"Are those for Nagi as well?" Farfarello asked politely.

"No," Siberian muttered.

This surprised Farfarello. And then angered him. Was that Bombey kitten cheating on their Prodigy? With another member of Schwarz?

"Brad Crawford is Oracle, right?" Siberian said.

Farfarello didn't trust himself to answer. Siberian had attracted his attention yesterday, and if he gutted him he wouldn't do any more interesting things. It was hard to remember through the red haze, but he forced himself to change red to pink until it became moped shaped.

"It was Abyssinian," Siberian told him.

"For Crawford?" Farfarello stared at the thick petals.

"I didn't mention that bit to Kritiker," Siberian muttered. "Nor about O- Bombey and Prodigy." He pushed the basket towards Farfarello. "I want to get out of here," he said. "Oracle's probably expecting them, right? He probably knows I'm here already."

Farfarello took the basket and threw it over his shoulder, not caring what Oracle might or might not be expecting. He chucked a few knives in the same direction, without turning around, and his anger was appeased by the almost silent sound of ripping petals.

"I don't know why they keep sending me," Siberian said. "Do they want me to know they're screwing Schwarz?"

"Maybe," said Farfarello. "Will you drive the scooter angrily again?"

Siberian almost smiled, and nodded sharply. "I think I shall."

"See you tomorrow," Farfarello waved.

The scooter drove away in a manner Farfarello found hard to describe, since the word that came to mind was "confused".

The next day Farfarello was waiting by the door. He'd even opened it a little so when Siberian knocked it would just swing open.

Siberian rang the door bell. Grinding his teeth, Farfarello opened the door. Siberian handed him a bouquet of tulips.

"From Balinese to Schuldig, AKA Mastermind," Siberian informed him.

"I'm sure he's grateful."

Siberian studied Farfarello for a moment, and turned to leave. Farfarello raised a hand to stop him, but thought better of it. He spent the rest of the day seeing how small tulip petals could be made.

Farfarello let Nagi get the door the next morning. He imagined it was the runt's turn for another bunch of flowers. Those Weiss boys were stupidly predictable. He sharpened his dagger on his teeth. Or his teeth on the dagger. He was never quite sure which way it was going.

"It's for you," Nagi called out, stomping back to his room. Farfarello waited for Schuldig or Crawford to get up, but neither reacted.

"He means you," Schuldig eventually muttered. "You, Farfarello, you."

"Farfarello?" Siberian said, leaning in the door frame. "I was wondering what your name was."

"Who are you?"

Siberian looked stunned for a second, then realisation dawned. "Ken," he said. "I'm Ken." He pushed a box in Farfarello's direction. "I thought I'd be different," he murmured.

"Chocolates," Farfarello said. "That's good. Everyone's getting sick of picking petals out of their clothes. And food. And beds. And guns."

"Apparently there's a Kritiker directive," Ken said, holding a hand out to Farfarello. "Though I think Omi might have made that up. Or made it happen. He's got a lot of power."

"Wear the bugnuks," Farfarello said. "Please."

Ken beamed. "Most people think it's creepy when I suggest I get the claws out in romantic situations."

"I like blades."


End file.
